


Brass Knuckles

by skygawker



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Jedi Quest Series - Jude Watson, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: AcesInSpades Ficathon, Asexuality, Demisexuality, F/M, Gen, M/M, onesided Anakin/Obi-Wan, onesided female OC/Anakin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2014-06-09
Packaged: 2018-02-04 02:19:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1762769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skygawker/pseuds/skygawker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anakin gets rejected, flirted with, involved in a less-than-legal race, and punched in the face—but not necessarily in that order. Written for the AcesInSpades ficathon, features demisexual!Anakin. Written for the prompt "brass knuckles."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brass Knuckles

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the AcesInSpades ficathon. Prompt: "brass knuckles"

At age sixteen, Anakin Skywalker decided he was in love with his Master. At age seventeen, he concluded that his desire to be closer to Obi-Wan also included a desire to have sex with him. Also at age seventeen, he finally accepted that such an intimate relationship was, in Obi-Wan's own words, Completely Inappropriate and definitively Never Going to Happen, and in hindsight the two-and-half-month interval between those two last realizations was one of the more embarrassing periods of his life.

Admittedly, he was only just over half of Obi-Wan's age, and while there hadn't been any laws against that sort of thing—or any sort of thing—on Tatooine, they certainly existed on Coruscant. Admittedly, he was Obi-Wan's apprentice and technically sworn to obey him in all things, and even if he failed to be obedient more often than he succeeded, it made for a certain imbalance of power and potential for abuse. And admittedly, his attempts to garner Obi-Wan's attention—wandering half-dressed around their living room, accidentally-on-purpose tripping and falling on top of him during sparring sessions, propositioning him via post-it notes left in various places in their apartment--had been less than subtle and, looking back, not really the best way to go about the whole thing.

He’d been frustrated that Obi-Wan hadn’t seemed to notice his advances, though in retrospect the older man had probably just been purposely ignoring him in an attempt to let him down gently. It hadn’t worked, and finally, earlier this particular evening, the whole situation had come to a head when he’d oh-so-nonchalantly draped his arm over his Master’s shoulder while they were watching the news on the HoloNet.

And Obi-Wan had made his feelings on the situation very, very clear. What was worse, he’d done it in such an Obi-Wan way, gently yet firmly explaining reason after reason why Anakin could never have him. _You’re only seventeen, my_ very _young apprentice_ and _that sort of relationship is inappropriate between Master and Padawan_ and _you know the Code forbids it_ and so on and so forth until now, even an hour later as he lay in his bed, he wanted to scream. Anakin had known that rejection was a possibility, but he hadn't expected it to feel like _this_. It was like any one of the thousand times Obi-Wan had lectured him for not doing his homework or leaving droid parts around the apartment or any other meaningless transgression, and that hurt.

But it didn’t hurt quite as much as Obi-Wan’s next words _. Believe me, Anakin, you'll be happier experimenting with someone closer to your own age. So long as you remember the Code and don't get emotionally involved, there's nothing forbidding you from acting on these types of impulses with another apprentice_.

Except he didn't want one of the other Padawans. Force, he'd always felt left out when the other boys talked about sex—most of them were good little Jedi and had never actually done anything, but that didn't stop it from dominating their conversations—because until about a year ago, it just hadn't appealed to him. And until more recently than that, it hadn't appealed to him in regards to anyone who wasn't currently ruling her planet half the galaxy away. No, he didn't want any of them, the other apprentices who—with Darra dead and Tru ignoring him—never gave him the time of day except, it seemed, to resent his power. Why couldn't Obi-Wan just understand that he just didn't have 'those types of impulses' when it came to anybody else?

But then, the other Padawans didn't seem to understand it either.

And to be fair, there were more ways in which Anakin Skywalker had realized he was different than his Temple-raised Padawan peers than he could possibly count even if he had the patience to sit down and do so. Still, this discovery of other-ness was different, perhaps because he suspected it has nothing at all to do with his upbringing. He'd heard enough talk from spacers and older slaves on Tatooine to know they'd been as casual about sleeping with people they didn't even know as the Jedi.

Anakin rolled onto his back, unable to sleep. The events of the evening kept replaying over and over in his mind--Obi-Wan’s rejection, his utterly ridiculous suggestion that Anakin just find someone else, as if were that easy.

He should have known it would end this way. Obi-Wan had never wanted him the way he’d wanted Obi-Wan, even when that wanting had been platonic. Sith, Obi-Wan had never wanted him in the first place. A promise to a dying man, that was all he’d been.

Deep down, Anakin knew he was being melodramatic. Obi-Wan hadn't been cruel in his rejection, and nor had he been disgusted or acted uncomfortable with him after he'd backed off. The situation could have been a lot worse.

For all he told himself that, though, his eyes still stung with tears. Wiping at them angrily before they could fall, Anakin sat up in his bed. He wasn't going to cry over this; he didn't need Obi-Wan. Without thinking about what he was doing, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

If Obi-Wan wasn't going to love him back, then he'd just have to deal with Anakin finding his own fun.

* * *

 It had been a few months since he’d been in the lower levels at night, but the important things never changed. This close to midnight, people of all species thronged into nightclubs and bars, laughing and shouting. The Force here was _alive_.

Anakin didn’t care to go into a club tonight, though he’d snuck into them in the past. He didn’t know his precise destination, but that didn’t matter. These were _his_ kind of people, and somewhere—in the garbage pits or in the abandoned buildings of the industrial sector—love of gambling would have intersected with love of adrenaline. All he needed to do was track down that ‘somewhere’ and he’d have the perfect distraction.

A few credits from his allowance later, and he’d been given a location.

A swoop-racing track—perfect. It wasn’t quite as dangerous—or fun—as podracing or even garbage-pit racing, and it was farther away from the Temple than he normally ventured, but it was good enough for tonight. Anakin pulled the hood of his cloak up over his head—you never knew was going to get jumpy around a Jedi, though of course not everybody would know enough about the Order to recognize the significance of his braid.

Nobody was actually out on the track when he reached it, though he could see racers with their swoops off to the side. Anakin slipped through the crowd, weaving his way forward until he was near the track itself. There was a rope cordoning off the area the racers and their bikes were in, and he ducked under it without a second thought.

It took about five seconds for him to be stopped. “Hey!” A Gran stood up from where he’d been adjusting his swoop and strode up to where Anakin was standing. “Racers only, kid. Get outta here,” he ordered, giving Anakin a shove back towards the rope.

“I’m here to be a racer,” Anakin replied, jerking his chin up. “Got an extra bike?”

The Gran stared at him, then burst into laughter. “Well, you’ve got guts. Sorry, boy, it takes more to be a real racer than a bike, and I sure as hell ain’t gonna lend you one of mine. Those things are expensive, and nobody’ll just give one to some kid who’ll just smash it up. I’m here to make money, not lose it.” He gave Anakin another shove, this time more gently and on the shoulder. “Go on, get out of here.”

Anakin grabbed the wrist of the hand the Gran had shoved him with before he could withdraw it, twisting it for a moment before letting it drop. “I am a real racer,” he said. “And I’m not leaving. Give me one lap around the track, and I’ll prove it.”

The Gran crossed his arms. “Okay, let’s say you’re right. Let’s say you know how to race. Why would I give you one of my bikes, which I’ve spent weeks fixing up? This ain’t a charity, kid. What’s in it for me?”

“I don’t care about money,” Anakin replied. “You could have any winnings I got. And you don’t have to give me a nice swoop—I can fix up any beat-up bike you’ve got, no charge.”

At that, the Gran looked interested. “Hmm. I’ve got some…well-used bikes, not fit for racing. Not with me today, of course. But the value of fixing one up for free, that’s not enough to cover the fact that it’ll be worth even less if you crash it.”

“I told you,” Anakin said. “Give me one lap around the track, and I’ll prove it’s worth the investment. When I win the race, you’ll come out on top. And if I smash up the swoop, I’ll pay you back for it.” That would be tricky, given his meager allowance, but he wasn’t planning on crashing.

“If you can win the race, why would I want to let you in? That just hurts my own chances.”

“Uh.” Anakin hadn’t thought about that. “Well…” Obi-Wan was the diplomatic one, not him.

The Gran snorted. “Kidding. I’m here to practice; I don’t have a real chance of winning against some of these folks. Tell you what: my heat starts in five minutes. If I don’t make it to the next round, then after the tonight’s races are over you can borrow my swoop and go a few laps around the track. If you crash, you pay me back double. If you do well, you fix up a bike or two of mine, and I’ll enter you in the race. I think there are still a few spaces open in the third night of heats two days from now.”

Anakin grinned. It would mean sneaking out several nights in a row, which he usually didn’t do in case Obi-Wan got suspicious. But this? Totally worth it. “Deal, uh…”

The Gran reached out his hand. “Janrax”

“I’m Anakin.” He shook.

Janrax made a shooing gesture with his hand. “Seriously, though, get out of here. Race is about to start. I’ll meet you back here when it’s over.”

* * *

 Janrax had made a fair assessment of his own abilities—he ended up placing seventh out of twelve, a long ways from the top three needed to advance to the next round, as Anakin had learned from the crowd around him. Still, the Gran seemed cheerful as he met up with Anakin after the second of the night’s heats.

“You gotta lose a few times before you can win,” he said. “Anyways, the more familiar I am with the other racers, the more money I can make in the final betting on who’ll win.”

Anakin glanced up from where he was examining the swoop. “Bet on me.” The bike itself was decent—the outside was battered, and it had clearly seen better days, but it was the insides that would matter.

Janrax raised an eyebrow. “Awfully cocky for someone so young, aren’t you? Some of these racers have decades of experience.”

Anakin shook his head. “Age doesn’t matter. I won the Boonta Eve podrace when I was nine.” Besides, he had the Force, which was worth any years of experience.

“No shit? I thought humans couldn’t do podracing, haven’t got the right reflexes or enough arms…Though now that you mention it, there was some human kid who won that race a few years back.” He cocked his head to the side. “He would be about your age now, so maybe you’re not totally full of bantha shit. That was really you?”

Anakin nodded. If Obi-Wan were here, he’d be telling him to be mindful; a Jedi didn't brag about his accomplishments. But this was the real world, not the Temple, and he'd learned early on that nobody would give you respect if you didn't have the skills and the confidence to make them.

“Still, swoops are different from podracers," Janrax continued. "How about this: you go five laps, same as in the real race. If you come within five seconds of last year’s winner’s time, I’ll sponsor you.”

Anakin mounted the swoop. “Got it.” Slowly, getting a feel for the bike’s balance, he pulled up to the starting line. The engine hummed smoothly beneath him—despite the aged exterior, he suspected a fair amount of work had gone into making this swoop not just functional, but powerful.

“Ready?” asked Janrax. “Go.”

And he went. The track itself was easy enough—some twists and turns, nothing like the obstacles he’d encountered in some of the podracing courses. Here, though, it got narrow—not enough to make him slow down, but if twelve racers were all trying to fit through it…he’d have to make sure he was out in front before reaching this stretch of the track. The swoop handled the turns well, he noticed, and by the third lap he had stopped paying conscious attention to the course, letting the Force and his memory guide his maneuvers as he focused entirely on urging the speeder faster, faster.

Eventually, though, it refused to go any faster. Something he would have to improve if Janrax was genuine about his offer to let Anakin tinker. Leaning forward in his seat, Anakin took the last few turns as deftly as possible, trying to cut as many milliseconds off of his time as he could. How fast had last year’s winner been? No way to tell.

He kept his speed up all the way across the finish line, then decelerated as he returned to where Janrax was standing. “Well?” he asked.

“Less than three seconds behind last year’s winner. Not bad, kid.”

Nearly three whole seconds? He’d definitely have to modify the engine, though maybe being familiar with the course would help as well. “So you’ll lend me a swoop?”

The Gran nodded. “This one’s mine. But come tomorrow night, meet me over there.” He pointed. “There’s an area where some people swap parts, pay mechanics to upgrade their engines, that sort of thing. I’ll bring one of my older bikes. If you can get it working, I’ll enter you in one of the next night’s heats.”

Anakin nodded, grinning. After the disastrous evening with Obi-Wan, it felt good for things to be working in his favor for once. Maybe tonight didn’t have to be a total loss.

* * *

 Anakin sat down for breakfast the next morning, avoiding Obi-Wan’s gaze partly out of embarrassment for the evening before and partly in the hopes his Master wouldn’t notice the bags under his eyes and realize he’d been out late.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan began, “about last night…”

Anakin cut him off. “Forget about it,” he said quickly. The last thing he wanted was to rehash the humiliation of the rejection. Except...there was one thing that had been bothering him, and now seemed as good as any of a time to ask since Obi-Wan himself had brought up the subject “Is it normal to feel sexual attraction to people you don’t know very well?”

Obi-Wan choked on his tea, and it occurred to Anakin that he might be asking the wrong person. He’d never known Obi-Wan to look at a pretty woman—or man—let alone have sex with one. His master was probably, like, a virgin or something. Maybe that was why he'd turned Anakin down.

Yeah, maybe.

“Er,” said Obi-Wan when he had finished coughing. “Ah, yes, actually.”

Anakin’s heart sank. “It is? I mean, most people do?”

“Oh, it’s quite normal,” Obi-Wan replied in what was obviously meant to be a reassuring tone, apparently having regained some of his composure. “It’s, ah, a natural physical reaction to the appearance of someone with…aesthetically appealing characteristics, whether you have an emotional connection to them or not.”

“Oh.”

“Anakin, these feelings are not unusual for a young man your age.” Oh, great, now Obi-Wan was in earnest-lecture mode, though Anakin could see that his face was still slightly pink. It was kind of cute—no, _don’t think like that_. “In fact, for a Jedi, it can be the combination of both physical attraction and emotional attachment that becomes dangerous.” If that was the case, then Anakin was pretty much screwed. But not literally. Actually, the opposite of literally. "Any sort of long-term romantic relationship could become a distraction from your duty as a Jedi.”

“I understand, Master,” Anakin cut in quickly, hoping to end the conversation as soon as possible. This was the last thing he wanted to hear, especially from Obi-Wan. What could his uptight, perfect-Jedi Master understand about love, anyways?

Obi-Wan went on as if he hadn’t heard him. “There is nothing wrong with acting on these impulses as long as you are mindful of your feelings. And as long as they are directed towards an appropriate recipient." He gave Anakin a meaningful look. "Also, ah, if you do choose to act on them, you must remember to take certain precautions—particularly if your partner is female—to avoid any unintended consequences…”

No, he’d been wrong before. This was the last thing he wanted to hear from Obi-Wan. “I know!” he interrupted. “I, uh, I know about that kind of stuff, Master, don’t worry.” 

“Oh.” The relief in Obi-Wan’s voice was palpable. “Well, then. Just remember to be safe.”

Anakin wondered if it was possibly to die of sheer mortification. Given Obi-Wan’s reaction to his advances, it wasn’t as though he was going to need the advice any time soon (unless one of his dreams came true and Padme decided to come visit only to fall madly in love with him). “I hafta go get ready for classes,” he said, getting up quickly and leaving the table before the conversation could devolve any further.

Instead of getting ready, though, he found himself entering his room and sitting down hard on his bed. Was Obi-Wan right? Was wanting to have sex with people you _didn’t even know_ something that was normal, something that everyone—except, apparently, him—experienced? The only person he could even imagine having sex with other than Obi-Wan was Padme, and he hadn’t started having those sort of dreams about her until a year or so ago, long after he’d started daydreaming about marrying her, spending time with her, being with her.

Was there something _wrong_ with him?

Or maybe Obi-Wan was wrong, and it was just one of those impersonal Jedi things. Maybe Anakin was the one who was normal, and the other Jedi just didn’t understand love the way he did. After all, if everyone in the Temple was like Anakin, they’d all have to be celibate in order not to break the Code. 

Somehow, he couldn't quite convince himself that was the case.

* * *

 Though Janrax had said they should meet after the next night's race, Anakin snuck out early enough to watch the whole thing. Partly, he wanted to get a better sense of the competition; mostly, though, it had just been a while since he'd let himself have this kind of fun.

Once again there were twelve racers lined up to compete. Anakin amused himself while waiting by trying to guess who would win. Three of the swoops looked particularly new, some of the latest models—but that didn't mean anything if their riders didn't know how to use them. He could see that seven of the racers were humanoid, though since they were all wearing helmets he couldn't begin to guess ages or exact species. One of the humanoids, tall and bulky and with a black helmet, was standing up and lounging against his or her speeder—one of the flashy ones—instead of doing the pre-race checks the rest of the competitors were—which meant they were either stupidly arrogant, or had simply done so much preparation beforehand that they knew the checks were unnecessary. Either way, someone to keep an eye on.

And then the racers were mounting their swoops, and within seconds the race began. By the end of the first lap, Anakin had identified three of the racers as competitors he'd have to watch out for. One was the bulky humanoid in the black helmet, at the very front of the pack. Almost neck and neck with them was a Dug. The third, another humanoid, though this one in a green helmet and on an older-looking swoop, wasn't as far ahead as the other two—in about fifth place by Anakin's eye--but they were handling the turns deftly and keeping a steady pace, not allowing the other racers to cut them off or force them into any unadvantageous positions.

By the middle of the fourth lap, the racer in green had worked their way into third place, staying just a few bike-lengths behind the other two. The racer in black, meanwhile, was drifting slightly to the side with every passing meter--and, Anakin noted, forcing the second-place racer towards the side of the track. Apparently noticing the position he was being herded into, the Dug decelerated slightly and angled himself back towards the center. As the two rounded the corner into the beginning of the final lap, the humanoid responded by veering sharply into the path of the Dug, who jerked his handlebars sharply to the side. Anakin winced—that was the sort of mistake that got you killed podracing—and sure enough, the Dug spun out.

But the maneuver had taken the racer in black a few precious moments, and now the green-helmeted racer was only a few meters behind. A few meters and _gaining_ —they must have been holding back on their swoop’s speed capabilities, and they managed to draw even with the frontrunner as the two bikes rounded the final corner. Passing black-helmet on the straightaway, they shot over the finish line.

Definitely someone to look out for in the final round, Anakin decided. Green-helmet and black-helmet both. He made his way through the cheering crowd to the pit hangar that Janrax had indicated to him earlier. The Gran was already there, standing next to a swoop that had clearly seen better days.

“Enjoy the show?” Janrax asked.

Anakin nodded. “There’s some good racers out there," he admitted, then gestured at the swoop. "This for me?"

"If you can get it working. Did you see Rigil Doransi out there? Bet he's pissed right about now."

"I can get anything working." Well, if he had enough time and all the right parts. Anakin crouched down next to the bike's engine compartment, pulling out the toolkit he'd taken with him out of the Temple. "Which one was Doransi?"

"The one who came second," Janrax explained. "He won last year's race, you know. Guy like that, he's not gonna be happy about not winning his heat, even if he's still advancing to the final."

Anakin had known plenty of racers like that, and it fit with the aggression he'd seen in the race. He filed the information away for later. "And the winner of the heat? Know anything about them?" He frowned at the rusted insides of the bike in front of him—Janrax hadn't been kidding about it not being fit for racing. Still, the repulsorlift engine looked salvageable, so as long as he could get the steering to work as well...

"Leisa Menkib?” Janrax pointed, and Anakin followed the gesture to see the racer in question remove their helmet, revealing a female human who looked a few years older than he was. "She raced last year too, didn't even make it to the final. Dunno if this was a fluke or if she's really gotten better, but either way, people are gonna be talking about the way she beat Doransi."

“She looked pretty talented to me,” Anakin replied, returning his attention back to the machine in front of him. “Doubt it was a total fluke.”

“Eh, maybe. She’s fast enough, all right. Think you can fix that bike up by tomorrow?”

Anakin nodded. He could already tell it was going to take him several hours, but as long as he could sneak back into the Temple before Obi-Wan woke up, that was fine with him. Over the past few years he’d become accustomed to functioning on only a few hours of sleep.

Mentally preparing himself for a long night, he settled down in front of the battered swoop. Shouts and cheers rose behind him as the second heat of the night began, but he barely heard. This was the sort of challenge he enjoyed, losing himself in the circuits and motors of an indifferent machine. Smiling to himself, Anakin got to work.

* * *

 Obi-Wan hated him, Anakin decided the next morning. That was the only explanation for this. He’d been offended by Anakin’s advances and had decided to either punish him or drive him out of the Order entirely, one of the two.

“Do try to keep your shields up, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said as he led him through the Temple halls, sounding--to Anakin’s ears--obnoxiously cheerful and far too alert, given the situation. “The whole Temple is going to feel you moping. Honestly, Padawan, it’s not that early for a training exercise.”

Or maybe Obi-Wan had figured out that he’d been sneaking out again, and decided that waking him up a mere three hours after he’d finally flopped into bed after getting Janrax’s swoop into working condition was an appropriate punishment. Whatever the case, there was surely no sane, innocent explanation for why he had needed to be roused this early on a Saturday.

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow at him. “As a Jedi, you must be prepared to be alert at all times—yes, even _this early on a Saturday_.”

Anakin rubbed at his eyes, trying to focus through the exhaustion to raise his usual shields. It wasn’t something he’d ever been good at, but he must be leaking more than usual for his Master to have actually heard one of his thoughts.

Unless Obi-Wan could just tell what he was thinking without overhearing through their training bond, which was also a possibility. You could never tell, with Obi-Wan. “I am alert, Master,” he replied, barely holding back a yawn.

Obi-Wan paused just outside the door to the training salles, turning back to look at him with a frown of concern. “You don’t look it. Have you been sleeping all right?”

“Uh,” said Anakin—he hadn’t, but not for the reasons that Obi-Wan was probably thinking. True, he’d rarely slept through the night since Darra had died, but at the moment it was the time he’d been spending in the lower levels, not insomnia or nightmares, that had been keeping him from rest. “It’s fine.” The last thing he wanted was for Obi-Wan to start paying attention to his sleeping habits, not when he had a race to win. Pushing past Obi-Wan, he entered the salle and picked up a training ‘saber.

“If you say so.” The doubt in Obi-Wan’s voice was clear, and Anakin bit back a sigh. “Very well, young one, prove it. Form six, first kata.”

Anakin had been hoping they’d start out by sparring properly, but he didn’t really mind the chance to warm up first. He nodded, moved to the center of the mat, and began the routine. Pushing his tiredness to the corners of his mind, he focused on the familiar movements.

Forget the awkwardness that had come between him and his Master these past few days, forget the fact that one of his best friends was dead and the other wasn’t speaking to him, forget that he was going to need to figure out how to get out of the apartment without Obi-Wan noticing at least two more times—this, like fixing things, was something he was good at. Even running on less than eight hours of sleep total over the past two days, the deft motions of the familiar exercise came naturally.

Finishing the routine, he lowered his ‘saber and glanced at Obi-Wan expectantly. His Master gave him a quick nod of approval, but didn’t step out to join him on the mat as he’d hoped. “Third form, second kata,” Obi-Wan instructed instead.

Anakin sighed. “Can’t we spar?” he asked. If he was going to be woken up at the crack of dawn, it seemed like he should be doing something a little more exciting. “I don’t need to practice these.”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow at him. “Why not?”

“I already know them,” Anakin argued. “Anyways, when I’m a Knight, which is gonna be more useful—experience fighting an opponent, or going through the motions by myself?”

“First of all, just because you know the katas doesn’t mean you don’t have room for improvement. Secondly, I—and _every other_ Knight and Master—practice them as well, and we do it for a reason. You can always use more conditioning.” Anakin ducked his head, knowing already he was going to lose this argument. It was one of the things about his Master he both loved and hated—on the one hand, the way Obi-Wan would calmly list the reasons Anakin was wrong about—well, anything—was frustrating. On the other, Obi-Wan was almost always willing to explain his reasoning behind any particular order; he asked for obedience, but not _blind_ obedience, and that was why Anakin would never want any other Master. “And thirdly…” Obi-Wan ran a hand through his hair, then crossed his arms, tucking his hands into the opposite sleeves. “Anakin, we’ve been over this. You aren’t ready to be a Knight yet, so focus on the present.”

The affection that had been rising in Anakin’s chest disappeared immediately, to be replaced with annoyance. Logically, he knew that Obi-Wan had a point—he’d never even heard of a Jedi being Knighted anywhere near as young as seventeen, and every mission he went on seemed to confirm that there were still so many things his Master knew that he didn’t.

But he was tired, and frustrated, and however much he’d disliked being treated like a child in the past, it was nothing compared to how he felt now that he knew his age was preventing Obi-Wan from seeing him as anything other than an apprentice, from caring about him the way Anakin wanted. “Whatever,” he muttered. “Doesn’t matter.” It did, though. It did matter. He wanted to be Obi-Wan’s equal, but it seemed like his Master could never see him that way.

Obi-Wan opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it again, shaking his head. Stepping forward, he placed a hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “I know it might be hard for you to understand now, but I’m not saying this because I don’t think you’re capable. Someday, I know you’ll be a fine Jedi Knight. Just…not today, all right? Don’t try to push yourself into something you aren’t ready for.”

Anakin nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He could sense that Obi-Wan’s words were genuine—there was no unkindness or malice, nothing to suggest his Master knew how much it hurt him to hear that he didn’t think Anakin was ready. He wished there was a way to prove that he was old enough, skilled enough, mature enough to be Obi-Wan’s equal.

But deep down, he knew he couldn’t.

Obi-Wan squeezed his shoulder once more, and then let go. “Go on, then,” he said, stepping away to the edge of the room. “Third form, second kata. And _then_ we’ll spar.”

Anakin nodded again, forcing himself not to let his emotions show through. Without another word, he began the routine.

* * *

 Winning his own heat that night was easier than Anakin had expected. None of the racers he was up against had the skill he'd seen in Menkib or Doransi the day before, and he wasn't sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. On the one hand, it meant less serious competition in the final and so a greater chance of winning. On the other, less serious competition meant less _fun_ , and that was really what he was here for.

Running a hand through his hair, he guided the swoop off the track. It was functional, now, thanks to the repairs he’d made the night before, but still not quite as powerful as he would have liked it. The spare parts he’d been able to scramble together to replace the irrecoverably rusted ones weren’t exactly top-of-the-line, and a single night hadn’t been enough time for him to work around that to get the swoop up to full speed capacity.

Shaking his head, Anakin chided himself mentally. The resources he had at the Temple, whether they were actually meant for his use or—as was more often the case, when he took the liberty of acquiring a few new cleaning droids to dismantle or borrowing a speeder, just for one night— _not_ , were making him soft. None of the parts from Watto’s shop he’d used to build his podracer had been top-of-the-line, or even anywhere close, and it hadn’t made a difference.

Of course, he’d had months to work on the podracer, not hours. Still, if he could just find a little more time to fix up the turbothrusters...

Someone tapped him on the shoulder from behind. “Hey, you.”

Anakin turned around, and found himself face-to-face with a young woman. After a moment, he placed her as Leisa Menkib; he’d only seen her briefly when Janrax had pointed her out the night before, but her bright red hair was distinctive. “Uh, hey?”

“Never seen you around here before; thought I’d introduce myself,” she explained, apparently noticing his confusion. “I’m Leisa.” She held out her hand.

He shook it. “Anakin.”

“Nice racing out there. It’s not every day a newbie wins a heat like that; I’m sure all the gambling pools just got shaken up a bit.”

Anakin grinned. “I _live_ to shake people up a bit,” he told her. “Anyways, you must have upset the betting yourself, huh? Beating last year’s winner and all.”

“Rigil?” She snorted. “Any idiot could outrace that guy, so long as they don’t get sucked into his macho adrenaline games. All I had to do was let him get so focused on getting rid of the other competitors he forgot to, y’know, _race_. A little less testosterone and a little more brains and he might have noticed he was winning that heat before he wasted time to bump off that poor Dug in second.”

“You know him?” asked Anakin curiously. From the sound of it, Doransi was a lot like Sebulba had been—wanting to beat others as much as he wanted to win.

Leisa shrugged. “We have a history,” she replied, waving a hand vaguely.

“You raced against him last year, yeah?”

She nodded. “I’d only been on swoops for a few months; that was my first real competition and I didn’t do so well. I got through to the final, but ended up in seventh.”

“Could be worse,” Anakin told her. “The first time I raced competitively, I crashed.” And the second time, though that had been because Sebulba had knocked his podracer off the course, and the several times after that.

She winced. “Now _that’s_ a hell of a way to start your career. Surprised you didn’t get put off the whole thing.”

“I was seven,” he explained, shrugging. “It didn’t seem like a big deal.” Not that Watto would have allowed him to stop podracing even if he hadn’t liked it, but he wasn’t going to mention that to her—and besides, the crashes and scrapes and broken bones had been worth the freedom of flying, whether it was technically his own choice or not.

“Seven?” Leisa asked, raising an eyebrow. “That’s a little unusual.” She eyed him curiously. “How old are you now?”

“Nineteen,” Anakin lied; he hated when people took him less seriously just because he was young. “And I know it’s unusual. Long story.” And not one that he was planning on telling her.

There was something a little different in her smile now, something he couldn’t quite interpret. “A man of mystery,” she commented. “Interesting.”

Anakin smiled back uncomfortably, unable to think of anything to say in response.

“Anyway, you ready for the final tomorrow night?” she asked. “If it’s anything like last year, it’ll be a hell of a race.”

At the moment, Anakin was more pre-occupied with how he was going to get out of his room again without Obi-Wan noticing than with the actual race itself, now that his lack of sleep had caught his Master’s attention. “I’m ready,” he told her. “Just got a few modifications to make to my bike, and then I’ll be set. You?”

“Can’t wait,” she replied, clapping her hands together. “This year I put a lot more work into my swoop. Rigil isn’t going to know what hit him.”

Anakin couldn’t help but wonder what sort of history she had with Doransi to create that sort of personal rivalry. “What sort of mods?” he asked curiously.

“To the repulsorlift, mostly,” she told him. “Making the engine more efficient, the controls more sensitive, that sort of thing.” That same unreadable, discomfiting smile appeared again on her face. “Maybe you should come to my place tonight and check it out.”

That…seemed like an odd thing to do, to offer to let someone she was going to race against the next day look at her swoop. Most of the racers Anakin had known went to great lengths to prevent their competitors from spying on their work and copying the mods. But then, the atmosphere here seemed a lot more relaxed than the podracing scene on Tatooine had been, so maybe she was just being friendly.  And besides, he was too wired with adrenaline from his earlier race to want to go back to the Temple. There was no _way_ he’d be able to sleep, and it had been a long time since he’d had the chance to talk mechanics with someone similarly-minded. “Sure,” he told her. “Why not?” He’d just have to hope that Obi-Wan wasn’t planning any more early-morning training exercises, because otherwise, he was going to be _wrecked_.

Her smile widened, and again he shifted uncomfortably without really knowing why—but the Force wasn’t warning him of any danger, so he ignored the feeling. “My flat isn’t far from here,” she said. “C’mon.” She jerked her head towards the exit, where crowds of beings were already flowing through.

* * *

 She continued to tell him about the last year’s race as they walked—apparently there had been some upset when one of the competitor’s swoop had been stolen, and one of the racers had died in a crash for the first time in several years.  Her flat was only about a ten minute walk, several blocks over and up a few levels. It wasn’t the roughest part of Coruscant Anakin had ever been in, but nor was it anywhere near as nice as anything in the Temple district.

The first room they entered had been converted into a makeshift garage, with a workbench on one wall and two swoops and a speeder taking up most of the rest of the room. It was easy to pick out which swoop Leisa had been racing on, though he’d only ever seen it at a distance when she raced—the other was older and its engine had been partially disassembled, not currently in working condition.

 “Hey, this is a nice bike,” Anakin commented admiringly, walking over to the racing swoop and examining it closely.

“Thanks.” Leisa was already walking to the door which presumably led to the rest of the flat. “You want anything to drink?”

Though technically under the legal drinking age—not that he was going to tell her that—Anakin had snuck a few drinks at the nightclubs he occasionally visited. It would be nice to be able to have some alcohol without having to mind-trick anyone, but at the moment, he was preoccupied by the machine in front of him. “Maybe later,” he told her, dropping to his knees to get a look at the engine.

“Okay,” said Leisa, and Anakin glanced up to see her giving him an odd look. “I’ll go slip into something more comfortable, then.”

Anakin nodded absently, already distracted. Leisa hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d talked about customizing her swoop. At a glance, it looked like a fairly standard Zephyr-class bike, though he didn’t recognize the model.  But there were several parts of the engine which didn’t quite match the rest of it, slightly older-looking and a different metal—it looked like she’d put in a completely new servomotor, and adjusted the way the cords from the pedals and steering hooked up to the repulsorlift…

Absorbed in thought, he barely noticed her return some minutes later until she cleared her throat. Anakin opened his mouth to ask how exactly she’d rerouted the power couplings, glanced up at her, and froze.

 _More comfortable_ apparently meant _more revealing_ —she’d swapped the practical, dark-colored pants and coat for a shirt that looked like red silk and dipped in a V-shape far below her collarbone with only a thin, unbuttoned sweater over it, and the tightness of her pants didn’t leave much to the imagination. Her hair had been taken out of the braid it had been tucked into, and hung loose in waves around her shoulders.

Anakin suddenly got the feeling he’d misinterpreted her invitation in his eagerness to find something else to do besides return to the Temple. He could practically _hear_ Obi-Wan telling him to be mindful of his surroundings. “Um,” he said.

She beckoned him through the door, and he followed, desperately trying to think of a way out of the situation that wouldn’t be horrendously awkward. “You want a drink now?” she asked.

“Ah, no,” Anakin said. Probably better to leave now before things went any further. “That’s not, uh, what I’m here for.” 

She raised an eyebrow at him, smirking. “Wow. You’re a straightforward one, aren’t you?”

Anakin could have kicked himself, realizing how she’d interpreted what he’d said. He should just leave, tell her he needed to be somewhere else and just go.

Or shouldn’t he? Wasn’t this what every boy his age was supposed to dream of? She was attractive, aesthetically speaking, with wavy red hair and curves he couldn’t help but notice. She was older than him, if only by two or three years, and from her casual tone, experienced. All the things the other Padawans at the Temple talked about, he could actually have the chance to do. There was no strong attachment here, no reason he couldn’t or shouldn’t according to the Code.

The only thing missing was _desire_. It wasn’t even that he wasn’t in love with her—he could deal with that, maybe, to get some experience and figure out what he was supposed to be feeling. But there was no physical spark of attraction either, even though she was pretty. Just nothing, nothing like what he felt when he thought of Padme or Obi-Wan.

 _Find someone else_ , the memory of his Master’s voice whispered in his mind. _Someone more appropriate._ Would things between him and Obi-Wan go back to normal, if he could vent his longings with someone else?

Maybe if he went along with this, everything would just click into place, and he’d realize he wasn’t so different from everyone else after all.

He realized he hadn’t responded to her, and shrugged a little, heart pounding in his chest. “Straightforward, that’s me,” he said, and wasn’t sure whether to be more embarrassed about the lameness of the reply or the fact that his voice had gone up an octave.

Leisa grinned at him. “I can work with that,” she said, taking off her sweater and moving a few steps closer to him.

Anakin swallowed, throat dry. This was what everyone wanted, he told himself. If he just let it happen, then maybe he’d _understand_ —

She kissed him. It was a little weird—Anakin wasn’t totally sure what he was supposed to be doing with his hands, or his lips, or his anything. Not _bad_ , but not quite what he’d been expected from the way everyone talked about it: just lips moving against lips, nothing more.

With his eyes closed, though, it occurred to him to pretend that she was Padme, and suddenly the experience seemed a little more interesting. Padme’s lips would be softer, he decided, but even so he could picture her being the one pressed up against him with one hand on his shoulder and the other moving down over his hip. It would be nice to touch Padme that closely, someday.

But then Leisa’s hand slipped in between his legs, and image he’d been creating in his mind shattered. Anakin froze. Physically, he could feel himself responding—his heart beating a little faster, his breath quickening—but he didn’t _want_ to do anything in response, mostly he just wanted to go back home and sneak past Obi-Wan or maybe just work on the turbothrusters on his swoop a little—

 _Don’t be ridiculous_ , he told himself. Of course she’d have to touch him there; that was the whole point of this. He just had to let her go a little further, and then everything would click into place. Everyone felt this their first time, probably, this lack of anything, and if he just kept going for a few minutes until they were doing something _more_ , then he’d want it, probably, maybe.

“Are you okay?” he heard her ask, and her hand was moving back up to his shoulder. He breathed a sigh of relief and only then realized that at some point, he had stopped breathing and had been standing stock-still for the past twenty seconds.

“Um,” he managed. Slightly embarrassed by the concern on her face, and thoughts more coherent now that her hand was in a safer position, he said, “I’m fine, it’s nothing.”

She let her hands drop to her sides. “Is this your first time or something? I can go slower. Seriously, you look a little freaked.”

Anakin could feel himself blushing. Part of him was taking her words as a challenge—whether it was Sebulba boasting about how he was going beat Anakin in the next podrace or Obi-Wan introducing a new lightsaber form or Force-technique with the warning that _this_ one was difficult enough that he shouldn’t feel bad if he didn’t master it immediately, Anakin had always responded to doubts about his ability to do _anything_ in one way: by proving he was willing, and eager, and capable of doing it as well or better.

But part of him…part of him was suddenly remembering what Obi-Wan had told him earlier that day. _Don’t try to push yourself into something you aren’t ready for_.

And he wasn’t, he realized with sudden clarity. He _wasn’t_ ready for this, and he didn’t want it.

He took a step backwards. “Sorry,” he told her. “I just—I can’t do this. I have to be somewhere else.”

A look of confusion crossed her face, but she didn’t try to move any closer. “Look, if I _did_ something—”

He was already turning to leave, walking back towards the garage before he could change his mind. “It’s fine,” he called over his shoulder. “Good luck at the race tomorrow.”

Her response was cut off by the door closing behind him, and he felt bad for leaving so quickly, but it wasn’t until he was out into the crisp night air that he could feel his pulse calming and his breath evening out. The brisk wind felt good against his skin as he made a beeline back to the Temple at a jog.

His and Obi-Wan’s quarters were dark, and he made his way silently back to his room—the very last thing he wanted to do tonight was to have to explain where he’d been to Obi-Wan. Now that the encounter with Leisa was over, he couldn’t help replaying it as he lay back on his bed. Relief that it was over warred with shame at the way he’d panicked--in hindsight, she’d barely touched him, and he hadn’t given her any real explanation for why he’d wanted to leave. And even now, he couldn’t help but doubt himself—maybe it _would_ have gotten better if he’d let it go a little longer.

Well. He doubted she’d give him a second chance even if he wanted one, so it didn’t matter.

Still, it took him a long time to fall asleep that night.

* * *

 Anakin snuck out early the next night, as soon as he could be confident that Obi-Wan was asleep, to adjust the turbothrusters on his borrowed swoop. It didn’t take as long as he’d expected, and he found himself with time to spare before the race actually began.

Janrax, he soon discovered, was currently quite pre-occupied with the other, less glamorous yet no less central sport of the evening: gambling. The Gran winked at him as he walked by, then turned back to the table and loudly placed a bet on Anakin’s chances to win. Shaking his head, Anakin continued down towards the track itself.

A few minutes later Anakin walked his swoop to the starting line, taking a good look at his competitors as he passed them. Leisa was there--he almost looked away in embarrassment as soon as he spotted her, but she waved to him as he walked by. “Hey,” she called, tone wry. “Look, sorry if I made you uncomfortable last night.”

Anakin shook his head, breathing a sigh of relief that he hadn’t managed to alienate yet another person, even one he counted as more of an associate than a friend. “It’s fine,” he told her. “Good luck today.”

She nodded at him. “You too,” she said, then turned away.

Anakin had made his way to his own spot and was just beginning to do his normal pre-race system check when he felt the hairs on his neck begin to stand up, an odd prickling feeling that made him stop what he was doing and look around. It didn’t take long to locate the source of his discomfort—Rigil Doransi, who was standing two swoops away with his helmet tucked under his arm and glaring at Anakin with undisguised fury.

Anakin stared back. He didn’t know what Doransi’s problem was—the guy was obviously aggressive, but why he would choose Anakin of all the racers to intimidate, if that was what this was about, was unclear—but he did know his type: the tough-guy heckler who tried to spook opponents into giving up. Anakin hadn’t backed down to that sort of bully in over a decade, and he wasn’t planning on starting now. Sure enough, Doransi broke eye contact after a few long seconds, though not before casting him one last hateful glare.

Shaking his head, Anakin mounted his swoop with the un-Jedi-like thought that he sort of hoped Doransi would crash and burn during the race. It might take his ego down a few notches.

But then the countdown began, and Anakin pushed all thoughts of Doransi out of his head to focus on the race ahead. He took a deep breath, letting the Force flow through him. No anxiety, only thoughts of winning. Your focus determines the reality, though Obi-Wan probably wouldn’t approve of this particular reality…

And then the race began. The noise from the crowd and the other swoops faded away, and he was hyperaware of the thrum of the engine beneath him and the wind rushing by his face as he shot forward as fast as his swoop could take him. Leaning forward in his seat, Anakin quickly maneuvered himself past five or so of the slower competitors. He could see Doransi already in the lead, and gritted his teeth. Urging the swoop faster, he accelerated past another racer with less than a meter of space between them.

By the end of the second lap, he was in fourth place and gaining incrementally. Even modified, the battered swoop he was riding didn’t have the power of models with newer repulsorlifts or larger engines, which meant that he couldn’t let this be just a test of speed.

The racer ahead of him—a Rodian—slowed down slightly as they entered a series of sharp twists and turns. Anakin didn’t, letting the Force guide his hands as he shot through—no need to be careful, no need to pay attention with a sense so limited as sight as he navigated—and in a few seconds, had passed the other racer.

Glancing up as he came out of the turns into a straightaway, he assessed the situation ahead. Doransi was still ahead of him...but the green helmet of Leisa Menkib was ahead of _him_ , now. It meant he needed to pass both of them, but he couldn’t help feeling a little vindicated that for all his aggressiveness and flashy swoop, Doransi still wasn’t winning.

It was odd, though. Doransi _wasn’t_ being aggressive. Not like he had been with the Dug during the prelims—he wasn’t trying to edge Leisa off the course or bump into her from behind. And this was the final; usually that meant all bets were off when it came to cheating and cutthroat tactics.

Regardless, he doubted Doransi would show the same restraint when Anakin tried to pass him if his earlier anger had been any indication. Not that he would let that stop him—he’d spent enough races dealing with that sort of thing from Sebulba, and swoops were less dangerous than podracers--but it did mean that it might be better to try it where the track was wider and he’d have more room to maneuver. Maybe right before the sharp turns came up again, where he’d be likely to be able to widen any lead he managed to take.

And after that, there would be Leisa to deal with. He watched her from behind as the three of them swerved around a curve in the track, calculating. She was fast, but cautious—slowing down almost imperceptibly at the turn, not as much as the racers he’d passed had, but maybe enough to give him the advantage, if he could just find a good place to…

Her swoop exploded. Anakin flinched in his seat, his feet jerking off the pedals momentarily as he stared in horror at the smoke and flames rising from bike where it crashed on the track, decelerating without thinking about it.

But then he saw movement—she was rolling away from the smoking debris and then diving off the track, out of the path of Doransi’s swoop as it ploughed forward. 

Anakin sped up again, sensing more than seeing the Rodian coming up beside him. He couldn’t let one crash distract him; he’d seen a thousand times worse on the podracing courses on Tatooine—except those had made _sense_ , the result of collisions or miscalculations or sabotage, and this didn’t. Nobody had been near Leisa’s swoop; even Doransi had been almost five meters behind her, and nor had she been close to any walls or obstacles. More than that, it just _felt_ off—a pull beneath Anakin’s skin that wouldn’t let him put the crash out of his mind, an undercurrent in the air whispering _wrong, wrong, wrong._

Obi-Wan would tell him to listen to his instincts. But there wasn’t anything he could do right now, and anyways, he had a race to win. Gritting his teeth, he focused back on the track in front of him, pushing the accelerator pedal down as far as it would go. Once again he was able to pull ahead of the Rodian, and it was just him and Doransi with two laps to go.

 But Doransi hadn’t slowed down at the explosion, was now almost twenty meters ahead. It would take more than taking advantage of the turns to beat him.

That was fine. Anakin worked best under pressure.

And he _would_ win. Regardless of the limitations of the machine he was using, he would find a way.

He pressed the acceleration pedal down as far as it would go, leaning forward in his seat and urging the swoop faster.  The Force sung in the air rushing past, and he wrapped it around himself, pulling it deep inside his body until he and it and the swoop were a single entity.

With his will, he controlled the Force—and the swoop, and the wind racing by; it was all the same. _Faster_ , he thought, _faster, faster_ , and his focus became the reality as the bike surged in speed past what its manufacturers had designed it for and even the air resistance seemed to lessen.  The world around him seemed to blur and fade until he and his swoop were all that were left in the galaxy.

For a few seconds, or minutes—time seemed as indistinct as everything else—everything was perfect. But then he was jolted abruptly out of the trancelike state, and suddenly the world snapped back into focus. Doransi, only a few meters ahead of him now as they entered the final lap, was maneuvering directly in front of him. Anakin suspected what was going to happen just moments before it did, and careful not to swerve too suddenly, he twisted the handlebars to the side as Doransi momentarily decelerated.

He hadn’t been quite able to get out of the way in time, and the front of his swoop crunched into the back of Doransi’s as he swerved to the left. A glancing hit, nothing too serious, but his swoop—older, and his maintenance had been mostly on the engine, not the frame—had taken some damage. Doransi’s hadn’t—he probably reinforced the outer skin of his bike for precisely that reason.

Almost side by side, they approached the series of sharp turns he’d taken note of earlier in the race. He’d hoped to make up some speed here, but Doransi seemed determined to stop him. As he’d predicted, his opponent slowed down slightly at each turn—but every time he angled his swoop in front of Anakin’s as well, preventing him from taking the lead.

Fine. Time to get aggressive, then. Anakin slanted away from the outside of the track as they came up on the next turn, allowing himself to slam into Doransi from the side before the other racer could make his own move. He grunted at the jolt that went through the bike, but kept his grip tight on the handlebars, the two swoops locked together closely enough that he could hear his opponent swearing at him. He tried to turn further to the right, as if trying to force Doransi off the track.

Doransi took the bait. He mimicked Anakin’s motions, turning the handlebars of his swoop left, and his swoop was powerful enough that both bikes really did begin to move towards edge of the track. Gritting his teeth, Anakin leaned towards the inside of the track used all his strength to keep his swoop from being pushed too far. They were coming up on the last turn, he knew, and all he needed to do was hold out just a _little bit_ longer.

Doransi pulled away from him off to the right, just slightly, and then rammed him from the side. It pushed Anakin closer to the edge than he was comfortable with, but Doransi was already locked up against him again, preventing him from moving back towards the middle.

And then it didn’t matter, because they came to the last turn. A _left_ turn. Anakin swerved his bike as hard as he could, _using_ the force of his opponent’s swoop rather than fighting against it. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Doransi jerk to the side, apparently surprised by the sudden loss of contact, and barely regain control before he went off the track.

It was enough—Anakin was ahead as they came out of the curve, and from there it was less than twenty yards to the end of the race. He shot over the finish line, Doransi seconds behind, and guided his swoop to the sidelines to watch the rest of the racers come in.

* * *

 The victory didn’t feel quite as sweet as Anakin had been expecting. He accepted his winnings with detachment—and he’d never cared about the monetary reward, but the thrill of winning was wearing off faster than he’d expected.

“Hey, nice racing, kid!” Janrax had managed to come up behind him while he wasn’t looking, and he gave Anakin a jovial slap on the back that caused him to stumble forward several steps.

“Thanks,” Anakin muttered, then added, “oh, and here.” He held out the credits. “I told you you could have the winnings. Thanks for letting me borrow the swoop.”

“No problem.” Janrax took the proffered money, and then glanced down at it a little guiltily. “You sure you don’t want any of this? You fixed up that bike better than I expected; you deserve something.”

Anakin shook his head. It wasn’t as though he had anything to spend it on, and besides, Obi-Wan might notice if he suddenly had more money than his normal allowance. “I’m sure.” He hesitated. “Hey, did you see if Leisa Menkib came out okay?” Rationally, he knew, he would have sensed it if she was injured badly, and it wasn’t as though it was any of his business. Still, he couldn’t stop worry from worming at him—her swoop _shouldn’t_ have malfunctioned like that; he’d been looking at it himself the evening before and there hadn’t been anything wrong. It bothered him.

“Eh, she walked herself off the track. I’d say she’s fine. Didn’t look too happy though.” Janrax appeared unconcerned. “Anyway, you ought’a think about entering some of the other races that go on around here. I think you could have a real future in it.”

Anakin forced a smile, but couldn’t quite bring himself to put any real feeling behind it. “Thanks. I’ll consider it.” In some ways, it would actually be nice to escape from the pressure of the Jedi Temple more often, to leave behind the weight of everybody’s expectations for the sheer and simple pleasure of racing. But his _future_? No, his destiny had been written down long before he had been born, and he was starting to understand that he couldn’t escape from it.

Not that he should _want_ to escape from it. A Jedi did his duty, as Obi-Wan was fond of saying.

Anakin made his way through the crowd—people  of all species shouting back and forth at each other, congratulating those who had done well in the race and jovially ribbing those who hadn’t—an  unexplainable frustration building with every step. Once upon a time, when he had been younger, winning a garbage pit race or a speeder competition had been enough to distract him from the issues that plagued him at the Temple. An argument—or outright fight—with another Padawan, a bad grade on a test, a lecture from Obi-Wan that he didn’t think he deserved—those things could be lost in the adrenaline and racing wind.

Now, though, it wasn’t enough. Not enough for him to forget Obi-Wan’s rejection, and nowhere near enough for him to forget that in so many ways, he just didn’t fit in with the other Jedi and probably never would. That he was _different_.

 Anakin shoved his hands into his pockets, glaring at the ground in front of him as he left the crowds behind and started making his way back towards the Temple. Whatever. He didn’t _need_ to be like them. He was better, more powerful. And someday, they’d recognize that and make him a Knight. Someday--

“You!”

Anakin turned around to the source of the shout from and was slightly surprised to see Leisa Menkib storming towards him. Aside from a large bruise and a long scrape on the side of her face and some singed clothing, she looked none the worse for the wear from her earlier accident. “Hey,” he replied. “How are you?”

“How am I?” She strode up to him until she was standing less than a meter away, fists clenched and eyes furious. “How dare you ask me that, you bastard!”

“Uh,” Anakin said, unable to stop himself from flinching a little at the acid in her tone. "I, sorry, what? Is this because I left?” She hadn’t been angry at him the night before, when he’d first run out on her, or even earlier that morning...Could it be because he won the race? She didn’t seem like the sort to be a bad loser.

She laughed, and there was no humor in it. “Don’t play dumb with me. It’s what you did before you left. Did you really think you could sabotage my swoop and get away with it?”

Anakin stared at her.  “I didn’t do anything to your swoop,” he protested. “I was just looking at it!”

Leisa snorted. “I’m not an idiot. I checked after the race; my repulsor unit was completely busted, and not just by the crash. Somebody messed with it.”

“Well, it wasn’t me!” He glared at her. Why did everybody have to think everything was his fault? “Maybe it was broken before and you just didn’t notice.” Except he’d looked at her engine himself; there really hadn’t been anything wrong…

She took another step forward, folding her arms across her chest. “Don’t condescend to me. I should’ve known you were up to something, leaving so fast. It was because you’d already gotten what you came for, wasn’t it? No wonder you seemed so nervous.”

“No!” He folded his own arms. “Look, maybe somebody did sabotage your swoop, but I'm telling you it wasn't me, okay?"

"Why should I believe you? You had the motive; you wanted to win the race. And you told me yourself you fixed up your own bike, so you have the skill. And _I_ was stupid enough to give you the opportunity when I invited you to my place! I never left my swoop unattended at the race, and I'm pretty sure I would have noticed if someone broke into my apartment to get at it."

“I didn’t do it!” Anakin repeated, frustrated, wishing he could come up with a better way to defend himself. “Why can’t you just believe me?” He’d thought she liked him, awkwardness at her apartment aside—so why wouldn’t she just trust him? Except he couldn’t come up with any better explanation for what had happened to her swoop either. “Are you sure it didn’t just malfunction? Whatever damage you think you’re seeing could have happened in the explosion.”

“Oh, believe me, it was plenty damaged by the explosion.” She shook her head. “But unless you call every single cooling vent in the repulsor being welded shut a ‘malfunction,’ I’m gonna say somebody wanted it to overheat and explode.”

“Uh,” said Anakin. Sithspawn, he’d never heard of someone doing that before. Even Sebulba hadn’t ever managed anything quite that...involved...to get rid of a competitor.

“Exactly.” Leisa turned away from him. “Look, maybe you did do it and maybe you didn’t. I guess it doesn't matter now." She began to walk away, then paused, glancing back over her shoulder at him. After a moment, she shook her head and turned away. "I hope I never see you again."

Anakin opened his mouth, couldn't think of anything to say, and shut it again as he watched her retreating back. Eyes burning, he whirled around and began to stalk back towards the Temple. First Tru, accusing him of causing Darra’s death and then giving him the cold shoulder. Then Obi-Wan, rejecting him and stamping on his dreams of becoming a Knight any time soon. Now this? He didn’t know Leisa that well, had only spoken to her for the first time only the day before, and if he was being honest, probably wouldn’t have cared if they’d never spoken again if they’d been able to part on good terms—but the accusation hurt anyway. Why was it that nobody trusted him?

He stopped, spun around. “I hope I never see you again, either!” he called, but she was gone. Telling himself that it was only the wind causing his vision to blur, Anakin turned back in the direction of the Temple and continued walking.

He barely registered the figure stepping out of an alleyway until it stopped right in front of him. “Happy now, lover boy?” asked Rigil Doransi.

“I—what?” For the second time in ten minutes, Anakin found himself completely nonplussed. Wiping his eyes viciously to clear them of the treacherous tears, he stared at the other man.

Doransi sneered at him. “You heard me. You slept with my girlfriend, vac-head. And _then_ you won my race, cheater!”

“Leisa?” _Girlfriend?!_ “I never slept with her!” Anakin protested. “And I didn’t cheat.”

Doransi snorted. “Yeah, right. You just went up into her apartment in the middle of the night to play board games.” He prodded Anakin in the chest with his finger. “You were stealing my girl!”

“You know,” said Anakin quietly, “I’m starting to get sick and tired of people not believing me!” He wasn’t sure what was making him angrier—yet another false accusation, the fact that Leisa hadn’t told him she was dating someone else, the idea that a person was something to _steal_ —but he could feel himself starting to snap. Taking a step forward, he shoved Doransi in the chest, hard.

Doransi stumbled backwards a step, face twisting in anger. Then he grinned, but his eyes were still cold and hard. “I was hoping you’d be stupid enough to do something like that.” Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out something that glinted in the light coming from the buildings on either side.

Brass knuckles, Anakin realized. He wished he’d thought to bring his lightsaber—in his experience from missions, lowlifes like Doransi itching for a fight usually ran once they realized they were confronting a Jedi. But he hadn’t. He hadn’t thought he’d need it, and he hadn’t wanted to be recognized—no sane being would welcome the presence of a Jedi in a less-than-legal makeshift racing and gambling venue.

 _Your weapon is your life._ As usual, it seemed, he should have listened to Obi-Wan. Like all Padawans, he’d been trained in hand-to-hand combat, but the appearance of a lightsaber could end a fight before it had even begun.

“You’re really going to regret this,” he informed Doransi, and the Force sung out a warning just moments before the other man lunged. Anakin sidestepped, throwing up an arm to knock away punch that had been aimed at his head. He’d never fought someone wearing brass knuckles before, wasn’t totally sure how much damage they could do, but he had a feeling he didn’t want to find out.

The blow clipped him on the shoulder. It hurt, more than he’d expected. Growling, Anakin reached up and grabbed Doransi’s arm before he could retract it, twisting it and yanking it sideways. His opponent stumbled, swearing loudly. Anakin stepped in, driving the bottom of his fist into Doransi’s chest, and watched with satisfaction as he fell to the ground.

But then Doransi swept his foot around, connecting with Anakin’s shins. The kick didn’t knock him off his feet, but he stumbled, and before he could regain his balance Doransi was up again, seizing him by the collar and slamming him into the wall. Again he deflected the fist with the metal, knocking it away at the wrist, but Doransi’s other hand connected with his eye. Anakin cried out, a stinging buzz blossoming across his face. For a moment, the world swam. 

Blood pounding and boiling with rage, the Force screaming in him and around him, Anakin lashed out. This time, though, he struck with more than just his fist.

The Force-enhanced blow threw the larger man a good five or ten meters, into the wall of the alleyway he’d stepped out of earlier. Cautiously, Anakin walked over and bent down. Doransi was clearly unconscious, but still breathing. Blood still racing close to his skin and still shaking with adrenaline, Anakin stood over him, trying to get his own breathing back under control. Slowly the rage faded out of him, and he turned to leave.

Leisa Menkib was standing not twenty feet away, staring at him with wide eyes. “You’re a Jedi.” She took a few steps closer then stopped, looking warily between him and the unconscious body on the ground. “I don’t understand.”

“Me neither,” Anakin muttered to himself. Then, more loudly, “Why did you come back?”

“I—someone said Rigil was looking for me; I thought he might have been worried about the crash.” She shook her head, as though trying to clear water from her ears. “Why were you fighting? Why would a _Jedi_ —”

“He started it,” snapped Anakin, which was mostly true. “Why didn’t you tell me you were dating him?”

“What?!” Sounding somewhere between surprised and outraged, she stalked over to him. “Did he say that?”

“Um, yeah.” Anakin was starting to feel like he had emotional whiplash. “But you...aren’t?” Cheating—or attempting to cheat, he hadn’t exactly gone through with it—hadn’t really fit with the image he’d had of her, now that he thought about it.

“We were, last _year_. I broke up with him more than six months ago. For a while he kept following me around, saying we should get back together.” She shook her head. “Gods, I thought he was finally over it.”

“Well, apparently not,” said Anakin, rubbing his face where Doransi had hit him. He nudged the unconscious man with his toe, annoyed. “Look, whatever your problem with him—or his problem with you—is, I don’t want to be a part of it, okay? Just—”

Something grabbed his foot, and he bit back a yelp before glancing down. Oh. So, the not-quite-unconscious-anymore man, then—he stepped away quickly. Doransi sat up, rubbing the back of his head and looking slightly dazed. After a moment, his gaze settled on Anakin, and he scrambled to his feet. “ _You_ ,” he seethed. “You’re a Jedi? I thought you lot were supposed to be _eunuchs_ or something _._ That just a rumor, or was my girl just using you as a pleasure slave, huh?”

At those last words, Anakin’s vision turned red, but before he could do anything he was distracted by Leisa storming up to the two of them. “I. Am. Not. Your. _Girl_ ,” she hissed, standing over Doransi with her hands on her hips. “Why can’t you just accept that?”

“Like hell you aren’t,” Doransi snapped, climbing to his feet. “I got you into racing, I showed you all the tricks, I helped you pay for your first swoop—and then you think you can just _leave_? You think you can just go off by yourself and start trying to beat me in competitions? You wouldn’t be _anything_ without me, baby; you _owe_ me.”

Leisa’s face twisted in disgust. “Owe you _what_ , Rigil?” She shook her head, taking a step away. “I can’t believe I spent almost half a year with you, you creep! And I was already planning to start racing before I ever met you, so don’t you _dare_ take credit for that.”

Anakin was beginning to wish strongly that he was somewhere else; anywhere else. It made him uncomfortable to be involved in someone else’s drama. Then, he processed what Doransi had said, and something clicked into place. “Hey! _He_ was the one to sabotage your speeder, not me.” He didn’t have any evidence to back the assertion up, other than that Doransi was clearly an asshole, but the moment the words left his mouth he was certain they were true.

Leisa glanced back at him, then rounded on Doransi. “Is that true?” she asked quietly.

“No!” Doransi glared at Anakin. “Of course not, babe. How could I have done that?”

“Don’t call me that,” Leisa snapped, and looked back at Anakin. “How _could_ he have?”

“He said he saw me going into your apartment last night,” Anakin explained. “That’s why he decided to pick a fight with me, ‘cause he thought I’d slept with you. He was _there._ ”

“You’ve been _spying_ on me?” Leisa’s voice sounded horrified as she turned to stare at Doransi again. “And—oh, I never changed the passcode to my apartment, that’s how you could get in. It _was_ you, wasn’t it?”

Doransi opened his mouth as if to argue, then seemed to change his mind. “Yeah. Fine. You know what?” he sneered. “It was me that busted your swoop, okay? Thought it might teach you a lesson.”

“A lesson?” Leisa looked shaken at the confession. “For what? Leaving you? Or winning against you in the first heat?”

“Both!” spat Doransi. “You need to learn your place, remember where you came from. _I_ taught you to race. Or was that your plan all along? Get me to teach you, then dump me and start racing against me? And then you wouldn’t even give me a second chance, you manipulative _bitch._ ”

“I can’t believe you! You could have _killed_ me.” She backed several steps away from him. “Just fuck off, Rigil. I broke up with you because we weren’t compatible, not because I planned it, and now I’m _glad_ I never gave you a second chance, if this is the kind of guy you are.”

Doransi advanced on her. “I deserve you,” he told her, voice low. Leisa’s eyes widened, but she stood her ground, jerking her chin up at him.

Anakin decided to step in. “Leave her alone,” he said.

Doransi glanced over at him, looking wary. Leisa barely seemed to notice the intervention, still staring at Doransi with her expression furious. “Why don’t you keep your nose out of other people’s business, Jedi?” Doransi snarled.

“It became my business when you decided to jump out at me from a dark alley and try to punch me in the face,” Anakin responded. “Do you really want me to knock you unconscious again? Or I could do worse, if you want.” He really, really wished he had his lightsaber to back up his threats—it might be harder to get a good hit at Doransi with the Force a second time, at least without receiving any more injuries himself.

Doransi looked hesitant—since he didn’t seem the type to back down from a fight generally, Anakin took a guess that it was the reputation of the Jedi giving him pause. He could work with that. Holding up a hand in a completely unnecessary, overdramatic position, he set his face into the most severe expression he could muster. “I could break your bones with a single thought,” he intoned, wiggling his fingers a little in an attempt to look more convincing. “I could take control of your brain and make you do anything I wanted.” Actually, he wasn’t all that good at mind tricks yet, and there was no telling if Doransi was weak-minded enough for it to work in the first place, but there was no reason Doransi should know that. In Anakin’s experience, most people even on Coruscant had only a vague understanding of Jedi powers.

Sure enough, Doransi took a step back of his own. He looked at Leisa again. “Someday when you’re alone, you’ll realize what a mistake you made in leaving me,” he told her. “I’m a good guy.” And then, with an obscene hand gesture in Anakin’s direction, he stormed away.

For a moment, there was silence. Then Leisa turned to look at Anakin. “Thanks,” she said. “I mean, I probably could have taken him, I’ve taken defense classes and stuff, but, um, that was a lot easier. He’s always been kind of scared of the Jedi; he thinks they kidnap babies and—” she cut herself off, looking uncomfortable.

“We don’t kidnap babies,” Anakin assured her.

“I know,” she said quickly, but looked slightly relieved nevertheless. “Sorry for accusing you of sabotaging my swoop, then. I still can’t believe he would _do_ that to me.”

Anakin shrugged, unsure how to respond to the second part. “It’s okay,” he said. “I guess I looked pretty guilty, being alone with your bike and all.”

“Blast,” Leisa muttered, as if to herself. “I’ll have to change the code when I get home so he can’t get in again…” She shook her head. “So, why _did_ you leave so fast, if you hadn’t already gotten what you came for? If you don’t mind me asking. I just, I dunno, thought you seemed interested.”

Anakin looked at the ground, unable to stop himself from flushing a little in embarrassment. “I’m…not really into that. I mean, it’s not my thing,” he said quickly. At least, it wasn’t when it came to people other than Padme and Obi-Wan, and even then he wasn’t sure now if he would be actually ready to _do_ anything yet if he had the chance. “Um, swoops are my thing. Mechanics.”

“Not your thing, huh? Well, all right.” After a moment, Leisa actually looked a little amused. “So you really _were_ there just for the swoop? Boy did I misread that one.”

Anakin looked back up at her, grinning a little in relief that she wasn’t making fun of him. “I think I did a little misreading, too,” he admitted.

Leisa shook her head again. “Why would a Jedi even be out racing in the first place?”

Anakin shrugged. “Looking for a distraction,” he said.

She considered that for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Fair enough. Well then, good luck with whatever you needed a distraction from, Anakin.” She stuck out her hand. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

He shook it. “Maybe.” At this point, he’d be happy to go back to the Temple and just sleep for the next six days. “Good luck with your racing,” he told her. “And, uh, careful of Doransi. He seems a little…” he struggled to find the right word.

“Yeah, I’m planning on avoiding him as much as possible outside of the races. That _jerk._ ”

“And in the races?” he asked curiously.

Leisa grinned, fiercely. “Maybe if I beat him a few more times, he’ll start rethinking where my ‘place’ is. Now that I know to look out for him, I won’t let him mess with me again.”

Anakin nodded. “May the Force be with you,” he said, and meant it. She nodded at him in return, and with that, they went their separate ways.

* * *

 Anakin crept through the residential wing of the Temple until he reached his and Obi-Wan’s apartment, then stopped suddenly. There was a sliver of light visible under the bottom of the door.

Stang. Swallowing hard, he keyed in the door code and stepped through. The noise of the door opening and closing seemed unreasonably loud in the quiet stillness of the morning, and Anakin’s mouth felt very dry and he walked into the living room. Sure enough, Obi-Wan was there, sitting on the couch with his back straight, reading a datapad. He looked up when Anakin walked in, expression tight and unreadable. “Good morning, Padawan,” he said, placing the datapad carefully aside. “Did you have a good evening— _wherever on Coruscant_ you were?” His voice—quiet, calm, just a little too normal—made Anakin shiver.

Just when he’d been beginning to think that tonight was salvageable. “Morning, Master,” he replied.

“Have you _any_ idea what time it is? How worried I’ve—where _were_ you?”

Anakin actually wasn’t sure what time it was. Lacking anything better to say, he stepped forward into the dim light of the room.

Obi-Wan’s expression changed immediately, and he rose to his feet. “Anakin, what did you _do_?”

For a moment, Anakin wasn’t sure what he was talking about. But then Obi-Wan reached out a hand and gently touched his face just above the eye, and the dull pain that he’d been ignoring for the past half-hour turned sharp and lanced across his forehead. Wincing, he ducked his head and stepped back. “I, um,” he stammered, but there was no good excuse he could come up with, and anyway, he didn’t want to lie to Obi-Wan. “I got in an argument with someone. A fight.”

“I can see that.” Placing a hand on his shoulder, Obi-Wan guided him over to sit down on the couch. “Are you injured anywhere else?” he asked.

“No,” Anakin said. Then, at the doubtful look Obi-Wan gave him, “I got hit on the shoulder, but I think it’s fine.” He’d had a lot worse, both from Watto when he was younger and from various missions.

“Hmm.” Obi-Wan turned away from him and walked swiftly out of the room, returning after less than a minute with a med kit. “I’m sure I probably don’t want to know the answer to this question, but what happened?” Sitting beside Anakin on the couch, he pulled a small container of bacta out of the kit and began dabbing it around his eye.

Anakin held still, letting him work, enjoying the light touch of Obi-Wan’s fingers against his face more than he knew he ought to. In other circumstances he might have resented having such a minor injury tended to by his Master as though he were a youngling incapable of doing it himself, but at the moment he could only be relieved that Obi-Wan seemed concerned rather than upset. “This guy thought I slept with his girlfriend—only I _didn’t_ , and she wasn’t even his girlfriend—so he blew up her swoop in the middle of a race and then came after me,” he explained.

Obi-Wan’s hand paused in the middle of his ministrations, and he pulled back a little, looking at Anakin as if to check if he was being serious. After a moment, he sighed, rubbing his eyes. “I think perhaps you should wait until morning to tell me the full story. I may need some more sleep before I can deal with it.” He shook his head, but Anakin was sure he saw the ghost of a smile flit briefly across his face. “Only you, my young apprentice. Let me check your shoulder.”

Anakin pulled the collar of his shirt down over his shoulder, wincing slightly at the sight of the purplish bruise that was already beginning to form. Obi-Wan touched it with two fingers, closing his eyes, and Anakin could feel him examining it with the Force. “Nothing serious,” Obi-Wan said eventually, settling back onto the couch and looking at him intently. “And your eye looks worse than it is, I think. So tell me, Padawan. What did you learn from this experience?”

It was a question Obi-Wan asked him a lot, usually when he’d done something he hadn’t been supposed to. “Um, don’t sneak out?” he guessed--it was never easy to tell what answer his Master was looking for.

“That would be a nice start,” Obi-Wan replied dryly. “But not, I suspect, what you really learned.” He raised an eyebrow, and when Anakin flushed and glanced at the floor—he couldn’t deny the truth in Obi-Wan’s words; nothing was going to stop him from leaving the Temple when he needed to get away from it all for a few hours—continued: “Let me ask you another question—the young man who gave you these bruises, what was _his_ error?”

Anakin sat back against the couch, thinking it over. What had made Doransi so angry about everything? “Jealousy, I guess,” he answered slowly. Over Leisa, and over the race.

“And what lead him to jealousy?”

Anakin was starting to see where this was going. “Attachment,” he muttered. “Pride.” The same things Obi-Wan was always scolding _him_ for.

Obi-Wan rested a hand on his shoulder. “Quite so. These things may not be dangerous in and of themselves, but they can lead to dark paths which a Jedi must be careful of.”

Anakin nodded. He saw the point Obi-Wan was trying make, except…he was _nothing_ like Doransi. He would never cheat in a race; when he won, it was always fair and square. And as for the attachment…well, okay, maybe he wasn’t so good at letting go of people, but he couldn’t imagine himself _hurting_ someone he loved.  “I understand, Master.”

Obi-Wan ruffled his hair. “Good. We’ll talk about it more in the morning, then.” He gave Anakin a look. “ _And_ about all this sneaking out you’ve been doing.” Despite the words, he didn’t sound particularly upset—not that Obi-Wan ever _really_ sounded upset, but Anakin had known him long enough to read the signs. He was probably in for a few extra hours of meditation, nothing more.

It didn’t bother him. Still, speaking of advice, there was one question he suddenly realized it hadn't occurred to him to ask. "Master, is it normal  _not_ to feel sexual attraction to people you don't know very well?"

At least this time, Obi-Wan didn't have any drink to choke on, though he did draw his hand away from Anakin's hair to stroke at his own beard. "In my experience," he said carefully, "so long as no harm is being done to anyone,  _normal_ can be whatever feels natural to an individual person, even if it isn't...typical."

Now that _was_ typical, typically Obi-Wan in the best way possible. “Thank you, Master,” Anakin said, and gave him an impulsive hug.

Obi-Wan looked slightly puzzled, but didn’t pull away. “For what you said yesterday, too,” Anakin explained. “About not pushing myself into something I wasn’t ready for. It was good advice.”

There was some bewilderment in Obi-Wan’s voice as he responded, “You’re welcome,” but he placed his own hands on Anakin’s shoulders and pulled him closer nonetheless.

Anakin smiled to himself at his Master’s confusion, resting his head in the crook of Obi-Wan’s neck. This was all he had really wanted from Obi-Wan anyway, he realized. Not sex, just closeness. Togetherness. And while it was true that he’d probably get a scolding in the morning—that Obi-Wan would _always_  give him a scolding when he broke the rules—it was just as true that Obi-Wan would always _be there_ to give him a scolding, or a lesson, or a hug.

Their relationship wasn’t perfect, or even exactly what Anakin wanted it to be. But so long as his Padawan braid hung over his shoulder, and maybe even longer than that, he would still have this closeness. 

And for now, that was enough.

 

 

 


End file.
